


What You Leave Behind

by starlightandpinot



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bullying, Drinking, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Kevin and Connor are happy and in love, M/M, McKinley POV, Mentions of alcoholism, Mini Character Study, Past/Referenced Internalized Homohobia, Post-Canon, its not that dark at all, mentions of eating disorders, mild violence, the tags make it seem darker than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightandpinot/pseuds/starlightandpinot
Summary: “You don’t have to prove anything to these people, you know.” Kevin squeezes his hand. “And I really won’t mind if you’d rather just... pull a Romy and Michelle and tell them all about how you married a good Mormon woman, had five kids, and simultaneously invented post-its.”The quip makes Connor laugh, and Connor’s laugh never fails to make Kevin smile.“I know I don’t have to prove anything,” he says, the laughter in his voice morphing into firm determination. “I want to.”
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price, Steve Blade/Elder "Connor" McKinley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	What You Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot based on the following Tumblr prompts sent in by @likealightsw1tch:  
> \- “If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.”  
> \- “If I ever see you anywhere near him again, you’ll have to deal with me.”

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this?” Kevin asks Connor for about the fifth time in the past ten minutes, squeezing his hand to try and get him to turn his head. "Because I could go back to the hotel right now, spend a lovely evening in that giant, olympic-sized pool we aren’t getting to swim in, and swing back here around ten to pick you up.”

They are on the butt end of South Jordan, Utah, standing in front of the large, brick building Connor McKinley once had the great displeasure of calling his high school. There is a blue banner hanging haphazardly above the door, the words _Welcome Bingham High School Class of 2010_ printed in big, yellow letters across the front. 

“I mean it,” Kevin lowers his voice, when Connor doesn’t answer. “Just say the word and I am _gone_.”

“No,” Connor says with a sense of renewed certainty, shifting his gaze from the building to meet Kevin’s eyes. “I’m _doing_ this.” 

He straightens out his back, trying his best to put on a confident facade in front of Kevin, though he knows his husband will surely see right through it. He always does. But that doesn’t stop Connor from trying. 

“You don’t have to prove anything to these people, you know.” Kevin squeezes his hand. “And I really won’t mind if you’d rather just... pull a Romy and Michelle and tell them all about how you married a good Mormon woman, had five kids, and simultaneously invented post-its.”

The quip makes Connor laugh, and Connor’s laugh never fails to make Kevin smile.

“I know I don’t _have_ to prove anything,” he says, the laughter in his voice morphing into firm determination. “I want to.”

“Okay, well. If at any point you feel like you need to bail, just let me know.” Kevin links their arms together, and it’s obvious by the _look_ in his eyes that he hasn’t been fooled by any of Connor’s false heroics.

 _He knows me too well_ , Connor thinks with a hidden smile as they walk further up the path. It’s nice. Having someone by his side who knows him upside down and all around and inside out. And he knows Kevin just as well, perhaps even ten fold. 

Nine and a half years across two continents will do that to you. 

“Should we have a code word or something?” Connor whispers into his ear as they make their way up the steps. “Or a hand signal? For when I want to bail, I mean.”

Kevin’s lips tug up into a smirk, but Connor catches the unmistakable glint of concern in his eyes. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“No,” he shrugs, “But it could be fun.”

“Alright.” Kevin thinks on it for a moment. “How about, uh… green monkey?”

“Green monkey?” Connor snorts, and sends him a questionable look. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Kevin pulls him close and softens his voice. “If you feel like you need to leave, but you don’t want anyone to know, just be like ‘Hey, Kev, I think it’s green monkey time’.”

“Right,” Connor nods, as he opens one of the gigantic double doors, “Because _that’s_ inconspicuous.” 

They check in with the woman attending the front desk. _Rebecca Stanley_ , judging by her name tag, but Connor’s memory of the woman is honestly a bit hazy. She seems to recognize him, however, as she greets him by name, along with a squeal and a solid minute of small talk. She does a bit of a double take upon noticing his and Kevin's linked arms, but ultimately maintains her smile as she hands them each a name badge, telling them excitedly to _have fun tonight_.

“We will.” Connor forces a polite smile, but he can already feel the sweat seeping through his shirt. He's fairly certain he will _not_ be having fun tonight. The probability is actually very slim that he’ll have even the _slightest_ amount of fun. But that’s okay, he tells himself, as he leads Kevin through the ugly, familiar hallways of his adolescence. He isn’t really here for fun. He’s here to make a point. 

* * *

Connor’s confidence—real or otherwise—comes crashing down the moment they step into the gymnasium. A flurry of unexpected emotions compete to take its place. Nostalgia. Regret. Excitement. Fear. 

He recognizes most of the faces immediately, though many of them do, admittedly, look a bit tired and worn down by time. Worry lines in their foreheads and bags under their eyes where the glow of unabashed optimism and youth used to be. 

It’s a weird feeling, seeing these people again, like this, after nearly ten years spent apart. All of them packed into the same gymnasium they used to play volleyball in as teenagers and congregate in for those God awful assemblies. Perhaps it isn’t quite as weird for many of the others as it is for him, though, Connor thinks as he leads Kevin across the floor. Thanks to Facebook and several other sources, he knows that many of his former classmates still live here in town. Connor doesn’t, of course. No, Connor escaped to New York as fast as humanly possible after his mission, with Kevin joining him out there just one year later. He had no interest in staying in this godforsaken town even one second longer than he had to, and for good reason.

It would be putting it lightly to say that Connor wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school growing up. He got picked on, constantly, for the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he enjoyed arts and crafts and dancing and glitter and musicals. They poked at the softness in his legs and squeezed the tiny muffin top he had circling his abdomen. There was nothing about Connor McKinley these people couldn’t find a way to laugh at, to tear down, to mock, always making him feel as though he wasn’t good enough as is. That he needed to change, somehow. That he needed to be more like them, and less like himself. 

There was only one other kid in their class growing up who seemed to have it worse than him, in fact; a small, frail, albino-looking boy with a mild speech impediment. _Matthew Roland_ , if Connor remembers correctly. He scans the crowd for Matthew, curious to see if he had shown up, as well, in the same sort of defiance as Connor, but he doesn’t see him anywhere in sight.

Perhaps Matthew is still on his way. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t feel the need to prove himself the way that Connor does. Maybe he’s been able to move on from all of this, to tuck the pain so far deep into the back of his mind that he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. Maybe Connor should have done that, too.

It’s enough to make him second guess his decision to come here tonight, to bring Kevin along with him. Because it’s not as though he _has_ to be here. Nobody is _making_ him do it. He is doing this for himself; to prove something, to someone, though he isn’t quite sure what that _something_ is.

But now that he’s actually _here_ , standing awkwardly near the buffet table with a _man_ on his arm, in one of the most conservative towns in all of Utah, he isn’t quite sure this had been the brightest idea. There are eyes on him, and on Kevin, and although no one has said anything unsavory to them, yet, Connor has no doubt in his mind that they will, at some point or another.

“See anyone you recognize?” Kevin asks, yanking Connor from his thoughts. Their arms are still linked, the warm skin pressed against his own serving to temper his nerves just a little. 

“ _Oh_ , yeah,” Connor says in the driest tone possible as he glances around the room, eyes flitting from person to person. “I sure do.”

He must look just as nauseated as he feels because Kevin leans in not more than a second later and whispers, “Is it green monkey time, yet?”

The stupid comment makes Connor breathe out a laugh, even though he feels anything but happy, but Kevin always knows how to make him laugh. It’s just one of the many things Connor loves about him. 

“No.” He shakes his head and gives Kevin’s arm a squeeze. “Not yet.”

The school is public, not affiliated with the Church, and so there is a bar on one side of the gymnasium that appears to be serving alcohol, despite the town's overwhelming LDS population. Connor and Kevin make a beeline for it the moment it catches their eye and they each order their usuals: a too-sweet girly drink for Kevin (they tend to vary, but this time it’s a Malibu Bay Breeze) and a glass of red wine for Connor. He will probably upgrade to hard liquor later on, perhaps in the form of tequila or vodka, but, for now, the wine will do.

Connor glances around the room as they sip on their drinks. Everyone is talking and laughing in small groups of five or six that vaguely resemble their old high school cliques. Cheerleaders. Football players. Band kids. Those who aren't part of a group are running around, waving and greeting people with excited squeals and enthusiastic _hellos_ and _how are you doings_.

Nobody says hello to Connor, though, and it feels like 9th grade gym class all over again. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself, now that he's actually _here_ , but he knows he doesn’t want to keep on standing here with no clique and no friends, looking like the school’s biggest loser, and so they pile their plates high with food from the delicious-looking spread and make their way over to their assigned seats at Table 7. 

Connor swallows hard as they approach the table, as there are six chairs, six place settings. He glances around the room. Great. The entire place appears to be set up wedding style. 

_To force people to mingle_ , he guesses, and his stomach squeezes in on itself. 

They sit down and Kevin wastes no time before digging into his cheese and crackers, but Connor has suddenly lost his appetite. He is curious, however, as to who he’s been relegated to _mingle_ with this evening and casually picks up the little place card sitting atop the plate next to him. 

He nearly spits out his wine as he processes the name. 

_Steve Blade_.

He reads and re-reads the name over and over again, written in stupid fancy cursive on stupid fancy paper, trying to process how on _Earth_ the universe could be this cruel. He feels an onslaught of tears burning behind his eyes, but skillfully holds them back. 

He knew he’d be seeing Steve again at the reunion. That much was always inevitable. But the fact that he’s been seated at Connor’s goddamn _table_? In the seat _right_ next to him? This has got to be some kind of sick joke. Someone _must_ be trying to mess with him, to humiliate him, to have a good laugh at his expense. He doesn’t want it to be true. He wants to think this is just a bizarre coincidence, a random collision of the stars, that nobody could _possibly_ be this mean and childish as an adult. He wants to, but he doesn’t. 

Connor is only brought out of his funk when Kevin wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, cheeks all round and chipmunked from stuffing them with appetizers.

“What is it?” He asks, adorably mumbly from the mouthful of food. 

Connor doesn’t answer, _can’t_ answer. He just looks straight ahead and holds up the card in front of Kevin’s face, letting him read it for himself. 

His husband’s eyes widen as he swallows his food. He scrubs a nervous palm over his face as his eyes linger on the name and lets out a long exhale. Connor knows Kevin better than he knows himself, and so he knows that Kevin is trying desperately to think of a way to fix it, to somehow try and make it less horrible than it is.

“Okay, look, we can, um - we can just go up to the front desk and ask that nice lady if we can have a different table.” He gives Connor a forced smile and rests a comforting hand to his shoulder. “Would that fix this?”

Connor shakes his head and throws the card back onto the plate beside him. He looks down at his own plate, trying to blink back the tears, though he can feel a few escape and roll down his cheeks, regardless.

Kevin leans in closer, looking worried. “Connor?”

“They did this on _purpose_ ,” he spits out rather violently, and with an unexpected amount of venom. “Someone did this on _purpose_ , just to _fuck_ with me. I know they did.”

Kevin freezes for a long moment, looking even more unsure of what to say now than before. “Maybe we should just leave,” he eventually offers, pulling Connor into him closer. “You don’t have to put up with this nonsense. Let’s just get out of here.”

“No.” Connor pulls back from the embrace, shaking his head with determination. “No. We’re not leaving.”

“No?” Kevin’s eyes widen, looking entirely confused as to why Connor would ever want to stay here, after—after _this_. “You’re not in high school anymore, Connor. You’re twenty-eight years old. And so are the rest of these people, I might add, which makes them complete and total losers for trying to pull something like this.”

“I came here for a _reason_ , Kevin,” he says. His voice sounds shaken, yet defiant. “So that I could look these people in the eyes and show them…” he goes to say the words, but stops short, as he honestly isn’t even sure what it is that he wants to _show_ them. He can feel it there, on the tip of his tongue, but he isn’t quite sure how to articulate it. “I want to show them.”

Kevin hesitates a moment, looking more concerned, now, than confused. He eventually reaches out to Connor, linking their hands together underneath the tablecloth. “You don’t have to prove anything to these people,” he leans in, softly repeating his words from earlier into Connor's ear. “Our life is amazing _exactly_ the way it is. These people are in the past. They don’t matter anymore. They’re nothing.”

It’s easy for Kevin to say that, Connor thinks, but he doesn’t think it with any anger or resentment or animosity. No, he thinks it because he knows that Kevin genuinely does not understand. He tries to, he really does, but Connor knows that Kevin could never fully, _completely_ , understand it the way Connor does. He doesn’t understand that these people are not simply _in the past_. They are with him, always, in everything that he does. In the way he always thinks twice before telling someone how he really feels about something, for fear they’ll think him stupid. In the way he constantly tries to diet, though he isn’t overweight. In the way he spent years and _years_ of his life trying to push down that shameful part of himself, the part of himself the Church and his mother and his peers didn’t want him to be. They _forced_ him to push it down—down, down, _down_ —until he finally convinced himself that he _wasn’t_ gay, that he _shouldn’t_ think about Steve in the way he couldn’t help but think about Steve, and that he _should_ be attracted to his 10th grade girlfriend, Marta, even though he wasn’t. 

He thinks about Joshua Higgins, the boy who dunked his head into the toilet in 6th grade and didn’t let him back up for over a minute, and about Marta, who told everyone he was a _homo_ after refusing to have sex with her. He thinks about Paul Gallo, the boy who pulled his underwear down in gym class, just to _make sure he wasn’t a girl_. He thinks about his teachers, who let all of this happen right under their noses, in front of their eyes, without ever saying a word. And, finally, he thinks about Steve.

These people are with him, always, no matter how much time goes by, no matter how much he’s grown, no matter how far away he’s moved. And he knows that the only way he can ever cast them out once and for all is to confront them about it, to get some much-needed closure—to _show_ them.

“We have to stay,” he tells Kevin in a tone of finality, when his husband’s big, brown eyes silently plead into his own, begging him to see reason. “I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense right now, but it’s just something I need to do, okay?” He searches Kevin’s eyes for a moment. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Kevin assures him, though it’s obvious he doesn’t. “Of course.” He thumbs over the top of Connor’s hand. “Just know we can leave whenever you want, okay?”

Connor nods and tries his best to pull himself together. They spend the next ten minutes or so sipping at their drinks, watching idly as people come in and out through the giant double doors of the gymnasium. It’s a strange feeling, to be sitting here like this, waiting patiently for the ghost of his past to come wandering over and join them at the table. He is nervous, yes, but he also has Kevin, whose fingers intertwined with his own remind him that he isn’t alone in this. Not anymore. 

* * *

It isn’t as bad as he expected it to be. He isn’t quite sure _what_ he was expecting, not exactly, but when Steve sits down next to him with a broad smile on his face and a wife on his arm and excitedly asks Connor how he’s been doing and what he’s been up to all these years, Connor’s frazzled nerves manage to get just a little unfrazzled. He supposes he expected their first meeting in over ten years to be awkward and unpleasant, but Steve’s quick questions and eager conversation don't allow much time for that. He is also thankful that Steve seems completely unfazed by the fact they’ve been seated together; another welcome relief.

Steve introduces Connor to his wife and they exchange a bit of pleasantries, but when Connor goes to do the same with Kevin, Steve holds up a hand to stop him. 

“Wait, don’t tell me, I can get this,” he squints his eyes at Kevin, as is trying to place him. “Ronald... Freewater?”

Connor lets out a snort right into his wine. “I’m sorry,” he struggles to take in a breath, clutching at his chest to try and subdue his laughter, “You think he looks like Ronald _Freewater_?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs, eyes still squinted at Kevin, “Maybe a little.”

“Ronald Freewater is _Samoan_ ,” Connor says, wryly, trying his best to suppress another laugh. “He has tattoos covering every square inch of his body and, judging by his latest photos on Instagram, has also taken to shaving his head completely bald.”

“Really?” Steve laughs, looking confused. “Wait, so who are you then?” He leans over the table and peers curiously at Kevin. “I don’t recognize you.”

“That’s because he didn’t go to high school with us,” Connor explains, a laugh still itching at his throat at the fact that someone had honestly mistaken Kevin Price for Ronald _fucking_ Freewater. “This is Kevin,” he says, and then his smile falters just a little. “My—my husband.”

He feels sick to his stomach the moment he says the words. Not because he isn’t proud of his husband, or their relationship—because he is, very much so—but it’s the first time he’s been forced to say the words out loud since entering the gymnasium. Although, he’s certain many of his former classmates have already surmised the same, such as the crowd of former football players whom Connor _swears_ he heard snickering behind their backs earlier when they went up to get more food.

“ _Husband_?” Steve’s eyes go wide, seemingly in shock. “You’re _married_?” He then gives Kevin a startled once over, followed by a rather dirty look. “To _him_?”

Connor’s jaw drops open just a little at the unexpected weirdness. He then turns to Kevin, who looks incredibly awkward and uncomfortable, now, and takes his hand.

“Yeah,” Connor squeezes Kevin’s hand, giving him a reassuring smile before turning back to Steve, “I am.”

Steve nods, slow and confused, furrowing his brow in concentration as though trying to process several things all at once. He looks mildly annoyed, now, as well, and perhaps even a little bit angry. “So, I’m guessing you left the Church, then?” 

“ _Oh_ , yeah. As soon as I got home.” Connor suppresses another snort. “From our mission. We were on our mission together, in Uganda.”

Steve nods again, eyes trained on Kevin. “I see.”

There is a rougher edge to Steve’s tone, now, then there had been before, and Connor is honestly confused. He tries to make sense of it, tries to place the emotion he sees on Steve’s face, but he can’t quite make it out. It looks a lot like jealousy, on the outside, but that doesn’t make any sense. Connor and Steve aren’t friends. Not anymore. They haven’t even so much as spoken to each other since 7th grade. They don’t even follow each other on social media. The man has a wife. He probably has kids. If he’s still a practicing Mormon, which Connor thinks he is, then he _definitely_ has kids. There is no reason for him to be jealous. Not of Connor, and certainly not of Connor’s _husband_. 

“Come on, Sarah,” Steve says to his wife, affording Connor a weak smile as he stands up. “Let’s go get some food.” 

The silence at the table is a bit deafening after they leave, and Connor finds himself at a loss for what to think. He almost questions whether or not he should even go through with asking Steve the question he’s been planning to ask him ever since he accepted the invitation to this godforsaken event over six months ago—the question that has been burning in the back of his mind ever since that fateful day in 7th grade, the day Steve broke Connor’s trust, as well as his heart.

“So, that’s Steve,” Kevin says with a nod. “He’s a little, um… different than I expected.”

“Oh, he's different, alright,” Connor says, peering at him curiously as he strides across the gymnasium, arm linked with his attractive blonde wife. He keeps his eye on them, watching as Steve and his wife pile their plates with food, waving and joking around with many of their former classmates along the way. Mostly football players. Connor’s lip curls up just a little. He had always been quite the popular one.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asks, after a short silence. Their hands are still latched together, underneath the tablecloth.

Connor snaps back to attention at the question, averting his gaze from Steve’s back to meet Kevin’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” he lies. But it must come out terribly unconvincing, because Kevin sends him a _look_ , designed specifically to call him on his bullshit. “I’m _fine_ ,” Connor says, again, like a dumbass, because it’s quite obvious he is anything but.

Kevin leans in and places a slow, gentle kiss to his temple. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but don’t just lie and say you’re fine.” He presses another kiss against Connor’s temple. “Because I know you and I know you aren’t fine.”

Connor nods, because he’s right. He diverts his gaze from Kevin down to his plate. It’s filled to the brim with delicious foods of all varieties, but he isn’t very hungry. His stomach hurts too much to eat.

“I never told you,” Connor says about a minute later, when Kevin kisses him again, “About what happened between me and Steve.”

Kevin reaches up and tucks a few strands of hair behind Connor’s ear. “You told me he was your best friend.” Another kiss. “And that you had a crush on him that he didn’t exactly… reciprocate.”

“Right,” Connor sighs, “But there’s more to it than that.”

He looks back up at Kevin, and he would just spill it out and tell him had they been anywhere else, but he doesn’t want to look weak or pathetic in front of Steve, and he knows that if he starts telling this story, starts telling this story to _Kevin_ , that all of the memories will come rushing back to him and he’ll cry. And he can’t cry. Not here. Not in front of _these_ people. Not in front of Steve. 

“I’ll explain it to you later, okay?” Connor latches his hand with Kevin’s and squeezes it. “I promise.”

Kevin nods and gives his temple another gentle kiss. It relaxes Connor enough to ease his nausea, and he even manages to eat a few bites of food.

* * *

The four of them are spared the awkwardness of further conversation when their former class president takes the podium and taps rather ungracefully on the microphone for everyone to shut up. She then gives a semi-drunken, and only mildly humorous, introduction speech to the night's festivities. It doesn't take long before the DJ begins blasting various pop music from the early 2000s and Connor and Kevin get up to fetch another round of drinks. 

“Wanna dance?” Kevin asks as he sucks down the last bit of his drink. 

Most people aren’t here with partners or spouses, but the DJ is playing a slow song, _just in case there are any lovers out there_. And it’s _Can’t Help Falling in Love_ , which just so happens to be one of their favorite songs to dance to.

“Unless you don’t feel comfortable dancing with me in front of these people,” Kevin backtracks after a second, when Connor doesn’t answer right away, “Which is totally fine.”

Instead of answering such a ridiculous question, Connor just grins and places his empty glass back on the bar. A smile curves on Kevin’s face as Connor takes his hand and leads him out onto the dance floor, where they assume their usual position of arms wrapped around each other’s waists, hands resting atop the smalls of their backs, bellies lightly touching. Connor leads, of course, because Kevin has never been a very good dancer, and they soon fall into a steady rhythm. The two of them are nearly the same height and so their faces always fall into the crooks of each other’s necks whenever they dance like this, and it doesn’t take long for Connor to almost forget where he is.

That is, until he spots Marta watching them from the other side of the room. He hasn’t seen much of her thus far this evening. Not that he particularly wants to talk to her. He doesn’t even have much to say to her, really, despite the pain she had put him through back when they were teenagers. Connor doesn’t really need to ask her why she did what she did back then, in 10th grade, when she told the entire school that her _boyfriend was gay_. It was obvious, at the time, that Connor’s unwillingness to do anything physical with her was making her feel insecure about her looks. She was already bulimic, back then, before they started dating, and had always struggled with eating and insecurity issues. The rumor going around is that she is still rather sad, freshly divorced and filling the void with credit card addiction and binge-eating. He overheard her former group of friends talking about it earlier, by the buffet table, and although she had made 10th grade positively miserable for Connor, enough that he was even considering being home-schooled the rest of his high school career, hearing that she has been having a hard time didn’t bring him the kind of joy he always thought it would. 

"Can I kiss you?" Kevin murmurs into his ear after a minute, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Of course you can kiss me.” Connor pulls back with a smile, moving his hands to wrap around his husband’s neck. “You don’t have to ask me that, silly.”

“Well I didn’t know, considering,” Kevin gestures around them with his hand, "Where we are."

"You can always kiss me," Connor lowers his voice, leaning in close and brushing their noses together, "Wherever we are."

Kevin kisses him, then, and it's no less magical and intimate and perfect the ten thousandth time than it had been the first. They’ve been kissing each other like this for the past nine and a half years, but Connor still gets this indescribable _feeling_ , this little butterfly flutter in his tummy, whenever Kevin’s tongue glides over his own. They pull back after a short while and Connor takes a moment to look around. There are many eyes on them, now, staring at them, some of them in disgust and some just in shock, but he resists the urge to panic. _These people don’t matter anymore_ , Kevin’s earlier words echo in the back of his mind. _They’re in the past_. _They’re_ ** _nothing_** _._

His eyes wander as they continue to dance, and he eventually catches Marta's gaze from across the room. She is staring at them, also, with this _look_ in her eyes, but it isn’t the look of aversion that the others are giving them; it is a look of _longing._

It should make Connor happy, that the girl who went around school calling him a _homo_ in the most condescending way possible is now looking at him like… _this_. It should please him, shouldn’t it? After all, isn’t that the entire reason he came here in the first place? To make them _jealous_? Isn’t _this_ exactly what he had wanted to _show_ them? That he is happy and content with his beautiful husband and their beautiful love and their beautiful life? 

It is. But he just can’t help the way his heart sinks a little as he watches Marta turn away from them, wiping at her eyes as she reaches for another cookie.

* * *

Steve still doesn’t drink. Connor knows this by the way he asks his wife to fetch him a diet ginger ale while she’s up at the bar getting the same. Kevin goes with her, claiming that he’s _really living for the cheese and cracker spread_ , but Connor knows his husband is just trying to give him an opportunity to talk to Steve alone. 

Connor sips slowly at his drink as he tries to think of something to say. It’s his third, and he’s officially upgraded to tequila in the form of a margarita. 

“It’s so weird we got seated together, isn’t it?” Connor asks, after a minute or two of awkward silence. “I mean, _you_ and _me_ , out of _all_ the tables in this place. That’s gotta be some kind of star alignment thing, right? Because if it’s not, then someone was _definitely_ trying to mess with us.” 

He takes in a long sip of his drink, watching as Steve rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“Ah, no,” Steve looks down with a guilty half-smile. “I probably should’ve mentioned this earlier, but it was… it was me, actually. I kind of… _asked_ Rebecca to sit us together.”

Connor nearly spits out his drink for the second time that night. He chokes on it a little as he sets the glass back down on the table. “You did?” Steve nods, still with that weird little smile on his face. Connor’s mouth hangs open a little. “Wha—why?”

“Because I wanted to see you,” he answers, simply, and gestures to Connor’s drink. “Do you mind?” Connor doesn’t understand what he means at first, until he sees that Steve is pointing at his drink. He thinks that perhaps Steve is telling him how uncomfortable he is with the alcohol, but that thought gets squashed when he adds, “Can I have a taste?”

“Oh, um, sure.” It's an odd request and Connor is confused by it, but he hands the drink to Steve, anyway, who quickly leans back and downs the entire thing in one shot. “Wow,” Connor says as he watches Steve place the empty glass back on the table. “That was… more than a taste.”

“Sorry,” he exhales, and moves the glass back in front of Connor. 

“Don’t be.” Connor tries to smile, and cups a hand over Steve’s. “It’s an open bar, right?” He pauses a moment, before venturing further. “We’ll have to get you your own.”

“Oh, I… I can’t,” Steve waves him off through a hiccup. He then glances around the room, eyeing his wife and Kevin. They are still mingling over by the bar, where Kevin is no doubt keeping her occupied with stories of his childhood dog, Brody, and his job as a fourth grade teacher. The thought curls Connor’s lips into a small smile.

“My wife would kill me,” Steve goes on. Another hiccup. “We’re still practicing.”

“Ah.” Connor nods, before looking down and eyeing the empty glass. “Looks like that's going well."

“Please don’t tell my wife,” Steve begs, looking suddenly scared that Connor might snitch. “That I drank yours, I mean.”

“Don’t worry,” Connor waves him off, “My lips are sealed.”

He makes a motion of sealing his lips with his hand, trying to sound upbeat as he says the words, but the idea that this man has to hide something so ridiculous from his own wife makes him a little sad.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.” 

They exchange an understanding smile and Connor thinks it’s probably the right time to bring up that lingering _question_ he’s been waiting to ask him. They probably still have a few minutes left before Kevin inevitably loses Sarah to one of his dog stories and she comes wandering back to the table.

But before Connor opens his mouth, he takes a moment to really take in the state of this man—the man Connor had once called his _best friend_ , his _first love_ —and honestly considers backing out of it. He isn’t entirely sure why, exactly, but it probably has something to do with the way Steve is turned away from him, now, just to pop an illicit stick of Doublemint gum into his mouth. To hide the alcohol on his breath from his wife, no doubt. He just seems so much _sadder_ , now, than when they were kids. He seems rather beaten down and worn out, as though he’s carrying around an even bigger weight on his shoulders than Connor once had.

But, no, Connor _has_ to go through with it. He _has_ to ask him. He came all this way, to Utah, to a party he didn’t even want to go to, to see people he didn’t want to see, in order to get some closure, and closure he intends to get. Even if that means having to have an uncomfortable conversation with his former best friend slash crush. It isn’t Connor’s fault the man seems utterly miserable with his life.

“So, do you, um - do you remember that day, I think it was back in 7th grade, when I slept over your house for your birthday, and it was really late at night, but we were both still up at like three o’ clock in the morning, and I told you that I—”

“You think you could get me another one later?” Steve cuts him off through another hiccup, gesturing to Connor’s empty margarita glass. “But say it’s for you.” 

Connor blinks a couple times. He isn’t sure he heard that right. 

“And make it a double.” 

“Um,” Connor says, because nothing else comes out. He’s confused by this sudden diversion from the heartfelt speech he had planned, but doesn’t really know what else to do, and so he just nods and forces another smile. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get you one when Kevin gets back.”

“Great.” Steve flashes him a grin. It’s the first Connor has seen from him all evening. "I can't drink it here, though.” He thinks for a moment before appearing to get an idea. “Oh, I know. Let’s go out behind the bleachers,” he says, tapping Connor excitedly on the arm, “Like we always used to do during assemblies and shit, back in middle school.”

Connor opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from Steve this evening, whether he was expecting anything from him at all, but _let’s go drink behind the bleachers_ certainly wasn’t it. 

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Connor nervously laughs out a reply, and shakes his head. “I don’t really feel right leaving Kevin alone. He doesn’t know anybody here.”

"Sure, he does. He can hang out with Sarah.” Steve nods to their spouses, who are still laughing and mingling over by the bar. “They seem to be getting along just fine.”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” he flashes Connor a mischievous smile, and bumps into his shoulder, "For old times sake."

“It just feels a little sneaky, that’s all. I mean, you’re not even supposed to be drinking at all, let alone behind the bleachers.”

“Need I remind you that this _is_ a high school reunion?” Steve smiles through another hiccup. “Reliving old times is practically required.”

Connor feels a little bit flabbergasted at this sudden weirdness, as he had just been ready to pour his heart and soul out there to his former best friend in a way he's been hoping might end up being cathartic for the both of them, but he supposes it might be easier to tell him if they are _alone_ alone together, and another drink or two certainly wouldn’t hurt on the courage front.

“Sure,” Connor shrugs, deciding _what the Hell,_ "Okay.”

“Great." Steve lets out a satisfied sigh. “Now, what were you saying before? Something about 7th grade?”

“Oh, um, that’s okay,” Connor waves it off, and turns back down to his lap. “It was—it’s nothing.”

* * *

“Hey,” Connor whispers to Kevin once they are alone together. Steve is in the bathroom and his wife appears to be flirting with the entirety of the former football team. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow at the request. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Steve wants me to go drink with him behind the bleachers.” Kevin’s eyes widen. “Long story, but I’m pretty sure he’s a closet alcoholic and his wife has no idea.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, do you think you could invent some kind of ‘emergency’ and come find me if I’m out there for longer than twenty minutes?”

Kevin agrees, of course, and fifteen minutes later Steve and Connor are sitting behind the bleachers with double fisted drinks. It’s quiet and uncomfortable and the entire thing just feels extremely weird. He needs to just spit it out and ask Steve what he came here to ask him and just be done with it already, but Connor has never been very good with confrontation, despite what his former Elders may say about him. Sure, he did what he needed to do back in Uganda, when he was their District Leader, but that was different.

“Want some?” Steve offers, hand extended. Connor turns to him, his eyes coming into focus on the flask in his hand. “It’s Kentucky bourbon.”

“Oh, um… no, I think I’m good.” 

“Come on, just one sip.” He brings the flask to Connor’s lips with a grin. “Just one itty bitty sip?”

Connor isn’t sure why Steve gives one shit about whether or not he drinks from the flask, but he eventually relents and takes a sip of the awful liquid. It’s at least a hundred proof, judging by the straight up assault it launches into his mouth.

“Oh, God, that is _gross._ ” Connor makes a face, nearly vomiting from the taste, but forces himself to swallow. “Why did you need me to sneak you drinks if you were carrying that stuff around this whole time?” Connor coughs violently into his arm. “God, that was brutal.”

“This thing only holds a few shots,” Steve replies with a shrug, as though that should settle that.

Connor nods slowly and watches him for a minute. Watches as the man next to him downs the rest of the acerbic liquid in one shot. He has to be an alcoholic, Connor thinks, to bring a flask to a party with an open bar, to be stashed with enough Doublemint gum in his jacket to last him a year. 

“So,” Connor clears his throat, trying to shift his focus back to the reason he’s here. “I, um, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a really long time, now.” He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to collect his next words very carefully. “I mean, logically, I know it doesn’t even matter anymore because high school was years ago and we’ve all moved on since then, but there’s just… there’s this one thing that’s been bothering me since 7th grade and I just have to ask you about it.” He pauses a second, to try and gauge Steve’s reaction. “That is, if you don’t mind reliving a few more of those old memories?”

“Go ahead,” Steve shrugs, and gestures with his hand. “But then it’s my turn, okay?”

Connor’s mouth drops open a little. “You—you have something to ask me, too?”

Steve grins, and it’s slightly mischievous. “I do.”

“Okay,” Connor stammers a little as he speaks, and forces another smile. “Great.”

“By all means, though,” Steve gestures to him, “You go first.”

“Okay, sure.” Connor swallows hard and tries to remember the words he had planned. “So, do you—do you remember that night in 7th grade when I slept over your house for your birthday and it was ridiculously late, but we weren’t tired, and we pushed our sleeping bags together so we could whisper to each other because your mom always came in and yelled at us whenever we were up past two, but we huddled together so that we could whisper, so that she wouldn’t hear us—” 

“Connor,” Steve gently cuts him off, “Just spit it out.”

“Okay.” He swallows again, to try and compose himself. “Well, remember how we started talking about secrets and things like that and you told me how you watched porno on your dad’s computer that one time and then prayed for a week straight afterwards, and then you told me that I could tell you anything, too, because you were my best friend, and so, against my better judgement, I told you that I’ve been having, um, feelings....” he stutters over the word, averting Steve’s gaze and looking down at the dirt, “Romantic feelings… for you.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Connor. He does lift one of the drinks sitting between them and dumps it down his throat. A double margarita, no rocks. _It waters it down_ , he told Connor when he ordered it for him earlier.

“You know, that was the first time I ever let the words leave my mouth,” Connor goes on to say, because he has to get this out. “I hadn’t even said them to _myself_ , yet, but then I just... _blurted_ them out to you, for whatever reason. Because you were my best friend and I thought I could trust you.” He gazes at Steve, hoping he would look up and meet his eyes, but he doesn’t. “But then all you did was yell at me to go home, that you never wanted to talk to me or see me ever again.” He gives Steve a tearful smile that he doesn’t see because he’s still facing the ground. “I was _devastated_. Not only did I lose my best friend, but I got rejected from the _one_ person I trusted enough to come out to. The _one_ person I thought might understand. I trusted you with my _secret_ , and that’s how you treated me.” Connor wipes at his eyes. “I don’t know, it just.. it made me never want to come out to anyone else ever again.”

Steve’s eyes turn sad at Connor’s words and, for a moment, he looks almost like his old self again. 

But Connor isn’t done, yet. He has to get this out. He has to finish this. 

“But then that wasn’t even the worst of it,” Connor goes on through a sad laugh. “You had to take it a step further by telling our entire 7th grade English class that Connor McKinley was a faggot who forced himself on you and kissed you while you were sleeping.” He nearly scoffs at the absurd lie. “I _never_ would have kissed you. Not knowing you were straight, not knowing you didn’t want it. And you _knew_ that. You _knew_ that, but you did it, anyway. You did it, _anyway_.” He shakes his head, hot tears burning at his cheeks. “And, I guess, what I want to know is... _why_?” He shakes his head, again, trying to frantically wipe at his eyes. “I mean, you _knew_ everyone picked on me. You _knew_ that. And you knew that telling them that would only make it worse. And, yet, you did it anyway.” He breathes out a bitter laugh. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, slowly, still not looking at him. “I guess. I guess I did it because I was angry.”

“ _Angry_?” Connor wrinkles his brow. “Angry about what?”

“About the fact that I was having the exact same feelings for you.” Steve looks up and meets his eyes, staring into them for a few moments before elaborating. “I’m gay, Connor.”

It takes Connor a minute or so to process the words. He still isn't quite sure he heard them right when he asks, “Wait, so _that’s_ why you hurt me like that?” He lets out a disbelieving gasp. “Because you… you _liked_ me?”

“That’s right,” Steve says, flatly, and downs another sip of his drink. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

Connor’s mouth hangs open for a second as he tries to find the words. “But your wife,” he says, “I mean, does she know?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nope.” 

“Well, don’t—don’t you think you should tell her?” Connor asks, confused. “Not just for you, but for her, too. I mean, it isn’t exactly fair to her.”

“I’m not telling my wife anything,” Steve says, “And neither are you.”

“No, of course, I wouldn’t—I would never do that.” He pauses. “I just… you can’t possibly be _happy_ like this. I mean, wouldn’t you rather just.. tell her so you can go out and live an honest life?”

“I live an honest life,” Steve says, dryly, and kicks back another sip. “My wife just doesn’t know about it.”

Connor’s jaw drops again, not sure what he is supposed to say to that. “You mean you cheat on her?”

“I prefer to look at it like an _open_ relationship," Steve says with a sly smile. "Besides, it's not like she isn’t off doing the _exact_ same thing. I wouldn't be surprised if she's in the locker room with Paul or Tony as we speak."

They stare at each other for a long moment, and Connor begins to feel nauseous. This whole situation is making him feel sick and weird and he considers making a run for it before Kevin is even due to arrive with his fake “emergency”.

“Speaking of which,” Steve goes on and crawls closer to where Connor is sitting. He places a hand over his knee, and Connor's skin prickles with uneasiness. “Is it my turn to ask _you_ a question?”

There is a marked slur in his voice. He’s _definitely_ drunk. 

“Oh, um, sure.” Connor forces a small smile as he looks down at his watch. Five minutes left. He could wait five minutes. “Go ahead.”

He doesn’t know what he expects Steve to say, but he does expect him to say _something_ , something with actual verbalized words. Only, he doesn’t. He just leans in and plants a rough kiss to Connor’s lips, grabbing at his face as he does so, trying to pull him in.

“What the _fuck_?” Connor shrieks and shoves him away, wiping his mouth as he leaps to his feet. Steve is still on the ground, leaning over the empty space where Connor used to be. Connor doesn’t know what to say to this sudden bout of insanity, he’s just so _shocked_ , and so he just keeps wiping at his lips. They taste like whiskey. “What the _fuck_ was that?” He eventually musters up the strength to yell, heat crawling up his neck from anger. “I have a _husband_ , you know.”

“And I have a wife.” Steve makes a face as he struggles to stand up. “So what?”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to keep mine,” Connor says, feeling beyond agitated now. “I happen to love him.”

The words make Steve laugh, for whatever reason. He laughs right in his face, actually, and it’s enough to make Connor's blood boil. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you don’t want it,” Steve sneers, advancing once again on his position, stumbling a little from the alcohol. “You’ve wanted it since middle school. I know you did. You told me so yourself.”

“That was a very long time ago,” Connor says, and begins to back away. “Look, I’m sorry, but I—I have to go, now, okay? This whole thing was just a giant mistake. I never should’ve come out here.”

Connor goes to make a run for it, but Steve manages to catch his fingers around his collar, making him yelp as the other man yanks him back rather roughly. 

“I’ve been waiting fifteen years to have you, McKinley,” Steve murmurs into his ear, slurring his words as he pulls Connor down to the ground. “I’m not letting you get away that easily.”

“Get the _Hell_ off of me!” Connor shakily yells, astonished and appalled by the sudden advancement onto his person, and tries violently to push him away. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I said _get off of me!_ ”

And then he is slapping Steve in the face with his palm before he can stop himself. The other man gasps, looking shocked at the display of self-defense, but instead of letting Connor go, he only seems to get angrier. 

A drunken fist comes into contact with Connor’s cheek a moment later, the man’s impaired coordination causing him to miss his eye. Connor cries out as the wind gets knocked out of him, and the pain is enough to make his body go slack. He feels a bit lightheaded, now, as he grasps at his soon-to-be-swollen cheek, but then he hears a familiar voice echoing in the background. Kevin’s voice. Kevin is here. Thank _God_.

“ _Connor!_ ” He hears Kevin bellowing in the background, and then no more than a second later, Steve’s weight is being yanked off his person, along with curses and screams that Connor can only half make out in his newly foggy state.

“Hey, _back off_ , asshole,” Steve yells, and Connor watches him shove Kevin away. “Your husband is the one who started it.”

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt that,” Kevin says and shoves him back. “Now tell me what _really_ happened.”

Steve makes a slew of drunken, unsavory comments about Connor’s alleged promiscuity, and Kevin’s eyes catch fire. He raises an angry hand to Steve’s face, even though Kevin has never hit anyone before, in his entire life, when Connor manages to stand back up and place a hand atop Kevin’s, to stop him.

“Kevin,” he says, quietly, one hand draped over his husband's, the other clutching at his cheek. “He isn’t worth it,” he tries to reason with him, though he isn’t sure any amount of words can extinguish the anger ablaze in Kevin’s eyes. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?” He squeezes Kevin's hand, to try and get him to snap out of it. “Let's just go, now. Please.”

“Fine,” Kevin agrees with a reluctant sigh, but doesn’t back away. “There’s just one last thing.” He steps closer to Steve, baring his teeth as he grabs a fistful of the man's dark red blazer, looking like a mama bear whose cub has just been threatened. “If you _ever_ come anywhere near him again, and I mean _anywhere,_ you’ll have to deal with _me_ first, understand?” Steve scoffs at the threat, willing Kevin to tighten his grip and give him a rough shake. “I said, _do you understand_?”

A weak nod comes from Steve, then, probably just to get Kevin to release him, when a panicked, female voice comes echoing behind them. 

“ _Steve!_ ” Sarah yells, giving the three of them an appalled once over as she slows down her pace, eyeing Kevin, who has hesitantly relinquished his grip on Steve’s shirt. “What—what’s going on here?” She asks, worriedly, looking at Kevin, who barely even resembles the person she has been talking with all evening; the sweet, good-natured boy with the cute dimples and funny anecdotes about puppies and life as a schoolteacher. “What happened?” She turns to Steve with panic in her eyes. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” Steve lies, in an air of forced calmness, and takes her by the arm. “Nothing happened. Let’s go back inside.” He goes to walk away, but takes a fleeting moment to hold his gaze on Connor, an unrecognizable look in his eyes as he turns back around, his wife asking him question after question as they walk away. About why Kevin had been grabbing at his shirt like that and the red mark on his cheek and the smell of alcohol on his breath. Steve deflects all of them, skillfully, more skillfully than Connor ever had.

He should be angry at Steve. He should be so, _so_ angry. For everything. For what he did to him in 7th grade, and what he did to him tonight. And he is angry. But more than anything, he just feels sad for him. It's a feeling he hadn't been expecting to feel in relation to Steve, or Marta, or any of these people, really, considering all that's happened between them, the grudge against them that Connor has been carrying around all these years, but he does. He can’t help it.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asks, softly, raising a tender hand to Connor’s cheek, where Steve had hit him. His eyes no longer look angry, and are filled to the brim, now, with concern. “Did he hurt you?”

“He did, but it’s just.. it’s not that bad. I’m fine.” Connor shakes his head. “Let’s just go home, now, okay? I just wanna go home.”

And, so, they do.

The car ride back to the hotel is quiet and solemn, but not uncomfortable. It’s hard for anything, even something like this, to make them feel uncomfortable with each other after so many years. Kevin looks like he wants to fix it, somehow, to make it better, to ask questions, but doesn't know what to say. And so he doesn't say anything, other than a soft, tentative _I love you_ and _Do you want some food? You've hardly eaten a thing._

Kevin reaches over as they make their way down the long, familiar highway and latches onto Connor's hand. The touch makes him feel safe and loved, so much so that his shoulders actually begin to relax. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep breath. 

He did it. He made it. He was brave. And he’s _okay_. A little bruised, maybe, but okay. Everything is okay. He has his dignity and his pride and his Kevin and a hand to hold anytime he needs one and a home to go back to, far away from here, where he is surrounded by friendship and love. He has more than Steve does. More than Marta does. He has more than a lot of those people do. He doesn't even have it in him to feel all that angry with them anymore. Not really. More than anything, he just feels sorry for them.

* * *

“You didn’t use the code word,” Kevin tries to joke, once they’re back in the hotel room. Connor has a cold compress pressed against his cheek that they picked up at CVS and there is a giant spread of food on the table that Kevin had ordered for them. The television is playing one of those police dramas that neither of them are really watching. “I’m kidding,” Kevin awkwardly backtracks, when Connor just glares at him. “That was a joke.” The lines deepen in his forehead, and it’s almost enough to make Connor crack a smile. “It was supposed to be funny.”

It works, and Connor’s lips reluctantly tug upward. “Yeah, well, I’m not in a very _funny_ mood right now.”

“Sorry,” Kevin says with apologetic eyes. "I was just trying to make you feel better."

"I know," Connor says, because he does. “Thank you for defending me," he wills his lips up into a smirk, "You were a regular Hulk back there.” 

Kevin blushes at the reminder, as Connor very well knows he has never done anything even remotely violent before in his life. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me,” he admits, wiping a hand over his cheek. “It’s like I became a different person for a minute.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Connor says, pulling Kevin down next to him on the bed. “I would have done the exact same thing for you.”

Kevin smiles back, cheeks still bloomed an adorable bright red as he lays down next to him on the bed. The tension in Connor’s shoulders lessens a bit as his husband curls up into his side and absentmindedly adjusts the position of his cold compress, so it can better cover his wound. 

“Are you sorry you went tonight?” Kevin asks, after a while, his hand making its way up and down Connor’s side. 

He takes a moment to seriously ponder the question, trying his best to sort out his feelings about the evening that had all gone horrifically awry. But even after a while of contemplation, he still isn’t sure how he feels about it. Is he sorry? He probably should be, all things considered. But he also kind of _isn’t_ , in a strange, unexpected way. The question of why Steve had gone out of his way back in 7th grade to humiliate him in front of the others, after years of close friendship, was finally put to rest. He got to show his husband off to those who were nice to him, and even those who weren't. He got to talk about his career and his life in New York and he’s pretty sure he left several of his former classmates feeling jealous and impressed and full of longing and regret.

“No,” he decides upon, his lips curling up into a genuine smile. “I’m not sorry I went.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow in surprise, and runs a gentle hand across Connor’s forehead. “Really?” 

“Really,” Connor says, and rolls over onto his side, pulling Kevin closer to him by the bone of his hip. Their foreheads bump together in that way they always do and a rush of peace floods over him like a warm blanket. “I actually think I got exactly what I came for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I would like to clarify that I do **not** actually headcanon Steve Blade as being a violent cheating alcoholic, that was LITERALLY only for this fic. I **do** , however, headcanon EVERYTHING else that Connor mentions he went through in school, including both the bullying and the bit where Steve gets scared in 7th grade because he is actually gay, and pushes Connor away and lies to the class that Connor kissed him. That bit was actually originally written for Chapter 17 of Second Star and may still make it in. 
> 
> I do NOT, however, headcanon that Steve is abusive or has alcohol issues, that was LITERALLY only for this fic.
> 
> Also, fun fact: South Jordan Utah is actually about 62% Mormon and was the first town to have 2 Mormon temples. Connor in Second Star is also from there.


End file.
